


First Snow

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e18 The End of Time (2), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master's not doing so well.  On an isolated planet at the edge of a distant galaxy, he and the Doctor discuss the future of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of kind of goes with CUDDLING THE BEAST.
> 
> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

They’d come to this place for the silence of it, the uninhabited emptiness and complete lack of sentient life.  By the time Earth saw its 21st Century, there were few places like this left in the universe.  The planet’s position at the edge of a far-flung galaxy helped, certainly, but the peace would never last; the Doctor had been here many times over the course of the planet’s history and had watched civilizations grow, die, and grow again as innumerable other species came to take advantage of its rich resources.

For the moment they were alone, the last two members of a near-extinct race with the whole of an unspoiled world at their fingertips.  There were other places the Doctor might’ve chosen, primitive worlds with very slight amenities to make their visit worthwhile, but the Master couldn’t tolerate extreme temporal changes; they’d had to move laterally, staying within their current timestream, and that limited the destination a bit.

 

The silence had done the Master a small measure of good.   Out here, away from the psychological bustle of a settled world, he had a moment to himself to focus on strengthening his dying synapses.  He’d given up on healing them, though neither he nor the Doctor had admitted that this was so; enough, now, to cling to what he had and draw his lifespan out as long as possible.

Sernalia’s northern hemisphere experienced a short, ferocious winter thanks to the planet’s unusual wobble.  Even so, the first weeks of the season were still fairly mild, and the Doctor had parked the TARDIS beside a small bay to enjoy autumn’s last gasps.  The trees here sprouted thick, fleshy leaves that used a process similar to photosynthesis to capture energy from the small red dwarf cluster glowing overhead; as the seasons turned, they withered and changed color from bright purples and blues to pale pink and ivory, cloaking the forests in a blanket of whiteness long before the first snows came.  The bay upon which they’d landed backed up against just such a forest, which in turn crept up the slopes of a small mountain range, treating them to quite a panorama.  

They stepped out of the TARDIS and into the first flurrying snowfall of the season, whiteness dusting the shoulders of their coats and the tops of their shoes.  It clung to the tips of grass blades and made a half-hearted attempt to stick to the branches of the trees overhead, but it was an evanescent thing, sure to vanish with sunrise the next morning.  Even so the Master shivered, pulling his borrowed coat more tightly around thin shoulders.  The Doctor had lent him his, knowing he’d need it more; he hadn’t been able to resist teasing him about how poorly it fit, how it swamped his shorter body.

The Master took a few steps out across the cold ground, boots crunching on frosted blades of grass.  “I’ve developed something of a fondness for that human holiday.  The one with the pine trees.”

“Christmas?” the Doctor asked, striding up to stand beside him.  He’d looped the Fourth’s long scarf around his neck, though it was nowhere near cold enough for him to need it.  The long ends dangled at his ankles, threatening to trip him.  “I’ve always loved that one.  Well – when I’m not having to save humanity from giant spiders and the Titanic and… things.”

“Things like me?” the Master asked with a lopsided grin.

“Things like you,” the Doctor agreed cheerfully, butting shoulders with him.  

“We should have Christmas,” the Master mused, casting a thoughtful gaze skyward at the lowering clouds.  “I could do with a bit of excitement – you saving the planet, I mean.  Let’s make a bet: I’ll give it twenty-four hours after our first gingerbread man before something drops out of the sky to fuck with you.”

The Doctor chuckled and shook his head.  “Make it twenty-two.  And no cheating – the worldwide devastation can’t have anything to do with you.”

“Not even a little?” the Master asked with a none-too-convincing pantomime of a pout.

“Not even a little,” the Doctor replied firmly.  “You’re here to rest.  You can watch me run around and fend of monsters – you like watching me fend off monsters.  Especially when the monsters are winning.”

The Master grinned and nodded.  “Oh yes.  Just you wait – you think you’re safe now with all of this convalescing I’m doing.  Really, I’ve been using this downtime to come up with ever more elaborate traps for you.  Schemes galore, Doctor.”

The Doctor laughed haltingly.  “Yeah.  I hope so, Koschei.  I hope so.”

The Master turned to face him, his smile suddenly strained, deep sadness and apprehension lurking behind his eyes.  The use of his childhood name tugged at distant memories, better days.  “I haven’t managed to kill you yet.  It’s keeping me going.”

The Doctor stepped closer, extending an arm in invitation.  Cooped up together with the Master dying in inches, they’d had to learn to get along; still, the peace between them was tentative and uncertain, the friendship of two wild beasts who couldn’t quite decide how to interact without aggression.  “Then I’d better keep on living.”

The Master hesitated, then leaned his cheek against his chest, submitting to his embrace with the faintest of sighs.  He was too tired to care anymore, too tired to resist the base desire for warmth and comfort and a friendly face.  From childhood he’d been alone, forcibly antagonistic to the world at large, and in time he’d lost even the Doctor.  He hadn’t allowed himself to be held in over nine-hundred years.  The feeling was a little unnerving and _entirely_ addicting, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do when he eventually had to give it up.

Because if he lived, he could not continue to live like this.  It was too far against his nature.  The universe needed the pair of them as opposing forces, dark and light, good and ill; it would break the Doctor’s heart when he at last left him, but it had to be done.

“I don’t want to go,” he said, his voice so low and soft that the Doctor nearly missed it.  He pressed his cheek hard against the coarse material of the other man’s suit, regretting the words as soon as they’d left his mouth.  

“Then don’t.”  The Doctor gathered him in closer, tucking the Master’s battered body against his own, willing a little warmth into him.  It was too much to ask that he ignore the remark and let the Master pretend strength a moment longer.  “We’ll beat this, together.  Look – today’s been a good day, hasn’t it?  Your bioregression levels keep on dropping, you seem to be stabilizing, and there’s every chance we can kick-start a regeneration-“

“What then?” the Master snapped, pulling away suddenly, stumbling and cursing the weakness of his own body.  “So we fix this- whatever this is.  I get myself a shiny new regenerate.  That’s just grand – I live to hunt you another day.  But _this_.”  He gestured at the pair of them, disgust curling his lip.  “Whatever it is I’ve become.  Poor, dying Time Lord, reduced to an emotional wreck, and you’re _loving_ it.  Clock’s ticking, Doctor.”  He turned away, scowling.

The Doctor held his arms out helplessly, hearts aching.  He was right, of course.  This tenuous intimacy they’d found was as delicate as spider’s silk, bound to snap the moment the Master regained his strength.  His desire to own and kill was too strong, too uncontainable.  

“Let’s be happy with what we’ve got until we haven’t got it anymore,” he offered, his voice painfully unsteady.  He cleared his throat once and stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning watering eyes away over the gently rippling bay.  “Let’s have one human Christmas.  Whatever’s going to happen will happen, and we’ll deal with it when it does.  Monsters, schemes and all.”

“Ever the optimist,” the Master said with a humorless laugh.  

The Doctor brushed his sleeve against his nose, then looked back to the Master with a wavering grin.  “Someone has to be.”

“It’s freezing.”  With the abrupt change of topic, the Master turned towards the TARDIS, tucking his head down against his shoulders as a sudden gust of wind caught him.  “I’m going back in.”

With his back turned, the Master missed the sudden shift in the Doctor’s expression.  It lasted a second, maybe, before he managed to force it away – a silent cry of frustration and anguish, a reflexive outpouring of the helplessness that’d plagued him from the moment he’d pulled the Master back from the brink.

A moment later he wore a half-smile again, a faint trace of sorrow in his eyes the only suggestion of his heartache.


End file.
